Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE VIGILS OF CHARLES VII, SELECTION, by MARTIAL D'AUVERGNE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE VIGILS OF CHARLES VII, SELECTION, by                    
First Line: In those old times no recollection lies
Last Line: With which the dogs and pages are content.
Subject(s): Charles Vii, King Of France (1403-1461)


IN those old times no recollection lies
Of numerous bulls and protonotaries;
Who dignities and prebends eight or nine
Hold--abbeys and rich priories combine.
What do they with them? Well and blithely fare.
Who does the service? Nought for that they care.
Who does their work? Some other takes their place.
And what do they themselves? Why hunt and chase.
Who does the chanting? Poor monks one or two.
The Abbots? They have other things to do
Than praying--that is not at all their way.
How of the service? That undone may stay.
How goes the money? Spent in gluttony.
Whence comes it? 'Tis the church's property.
The offerings? Hawks and hounds by these are paid.
The vestments? Of the finest damask made.
The rents? Baths, feasts, and luxury they feed.
The prayers to God? Of these they take no heed.
The poor? They let the poor of hunger die.
What do they give them? Nothing they supply.
Where, then, their charity? Forsooth it goes
Some distant pilgrimage, where no one knows.
And what does God? He dwells above the skies.
Sleeps He? They care not even to surmise.
In monasteries of the library
What fills the space? In truth a falconry.
On shelves where in old times there used to be
The votive candles, birds you now may see.
The founders? Their intentions nothing count.
Their obits do they while the sums amount,
Cloister, church buildings, with fit care maintain?
Fresh gifts they reckon on to build again.
What do the bishops? Wealth their only care.
They're e'en ashamed their surplices to wear;
Instead of these they're clad in noble guise--
In camlet robes to catch the people's eyes.
Have they much plate? Vessels of price untold--
Caskets, bowls, cups, of silver and of gold.
What get the poor? They get to break their fast
The scraps of bread beneath the table cast.
And what is left? 'Tis to the stables sent,
With which the dogs and pages are content.





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